


Close Call

by enigmaticblue



Series: A Series of Unfortunate Events [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Hurt Steve, Teambuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve should know better than to jinx a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt "lacerations/knife wounds."

Steve approaches Fury’s office, wondering what sort of mission he’s going to get now. When he’s not out with the Avengers, SHIELD tends to keep him busy.

 

Granted, he’s not going undercover—the Avengers are a little too well known for that—but there are plenty of missions for a super soldier.

 

The agent sitting outside Fury’s office waves Steve inside, and he’s a little surprised to find Bruce, Tony, and Clint there. Tony is saying, “Of course I’m going to get pissed off when you try to get two of my friends killed!”

 

Steve suddenly feels as though he shouldn’t be present, the tension in the room is so thick, and he takes a step back.

 

“Come in, Cap,” Fury says. “We were just finishing up here.”

 

Tony turns to look at Steve. “We aren’t done, but you’re welcome to stay for the show.”

 

“We _are_ done,” Fury growls.

 

Bruce clears his throat. “Tony, it’s okay. I think Director Fury got the message.”

 

“If you _ever_ pull something like this again, I’ll pull out,” Tony threatens.

 

“For the last time, I wasn’t trying to get anyone killed,” Fury says, exasperated. “I had a mission, which both Agent Barton and Dr. Banner agreed to go on.”

 

Clint snorts, but it’s quiet enough that Fury apparently decides to ignore him.

 

Steve feels like he’s missing something big. “Was there a problem?”

 

“It’s nothing,” Bruce says firmly. “Director Fury made a mistake, and it’s not going to happen again.”

 

Steve frowns. “Are you guys okay?”

 

“Bruce got shot, and I got banged up, but we’re both fine,” Clint says, sounding markedly more cheerful than the last time Steve had seen him, in spite of the bruises on the right side of his face.

 

“You coming back to the Tower?” Tony asks Clint. “I’ve got a six pack with your name on it.”

 

“Sounds great,” Clint replies. “Good to see you again, Cap.”

 

“You, too,” Steve says, although he feels a little left out.

 

Maybe he should have expected that, since they’re not going on missions together unless the entire team is assembled. Steve isn’t going to know everything going on with his team, but he still feels shut out in the face of their obvious camaraderie. He hasn’t had much contact with them outside the occasional run in at headquarters, but that’s probably on him.

 

Steve should probably make more of an effort.

 

“We’ll wait for Agent Romanoff,” Fury says. “You two will be teamed up for this mission.”

 

“How’s Barton doing?” Steve asks.

 

Fury gives Steve a long look. “There a reason you’re asking?”

 

“He’s part of my team,” Steve replies evenly.

 

Fury sighs. “He’s going to be out of commission for a few weeks, but he’s improving. He’ll be ready when you need him, Cap.”

 

“I had no doubt of that,” Steve says.

 

Natasha enters and sits in the chair next to Steve. “You wanted to see us, Director?”

 

Steve has always admired her professionalism, and he’s not too worried about this mission as a result. He can’t think of anybody he’d rather be paired up with.

 

“I need the two of you to make contact with one of our operatives in Paris,” Fury replies. “He’s been conducting surveillance on a new terrorist organization that’s shown up on our radar.”

 

“Won’t we be recognized?” Steve objects.

 

Natasha shakes her head. “Not if we take steps to prevent it. How soon do we have to leave?”

 

“You’ve got two weeks,” Fury replies. “Agent Romanoff will work with you on your disguise. You might want to try looking a little less like an all-American hero.”

 

Steve knows a dismissal when he hears one, and he fights the urge to salute before he follows Natasha out. “What should I do?”

 

Natasha looks him up and down. “Don’t shave. A beard will help, because everybody expects Captain America to be clean-shaven. And you’ll need a haircut.”

 

“What kind of a haircut are we talking about?” Steve asks.

 

“Buzz it off,” Natasha advises, “but just before we leave. That should be enough. Oh, and make sure you get a suit.”

 

“I’m not really into wearing suits,” Steve protests.

 

“My point exactly,” Natasha replies. “No one expects to see you out of your uniform.”

 

Steve sighs. “Do I have to wear a tie?”

 

“I think you can skip the tie,” Natasha allows. “See you in two weeks, Cap.”

 

~~~~~

 

The beard is driving Steve crazy, even after a week, especially since he has very little to do but sit around, wait for it to grow out, and wait until the mission starts. When Bruce calls to ask if he wants to come to dinner, Steve jumps at the chance of a distraction, as well as the opportunity to get to know his teammates a little better.

 

He still thinks the Tower is ugly, but he has to admit that he appreciates the fact that Tony hadn’t replaced the other letters. Steve has heard people refer to it as “Avengers Tower,” even though none of the Avengers other than Tony—and sometimes Bruce—live there.

 

Then again, maybe Clint is staying there right now. It’s hard to say, given the earlier conversation he’d witnessed between Bruce, Tony, and Clint.

 

When Steve gets to the Tower, the receptionist directs him to the elevator, which takes him up to the Penthouse faster than he expects.

 

Steve figures he’ll get used to modern conveniences someday, but he’s not yet, especially when entering Tony’s living area, which seems to be a tribute to technology in its purest form.

 

“Steve!” Pepper says as soon as the elevators open. “I love the new look.”

 

For some reason, Steve hadn’t been expecting to see her, so he’s thrown a bit. “Hi, Miss Potts.”

 

She smiles. “Pepper.”

 

“Pepper,” he confirms. “Bruce said I should come for dinner.”

 

“Well, we’re ordering pizza,” Pepper replies cheerfully. “I think Natasha and Clint are here already. Bruce said Thor was still on Asgard, or he’d probably be here, too.”

 

Steve blinks. “Do you have team dinners often?”

 

Pepper shakes her head. “Not that I know of. Clint was staying here while he was injured, and Natasha came over when she was free, so I think it just came about naturally.”

 

That makes Steve feel a little better. “Great.”

 

“They’re all out on the roof,” Pepper says. “I was just getting another glass of wine. Do you want anything to drink?”

 

“I’d take a beer,” Steve replies, mostly to be social.

 

“Any preference?” Pepper asks.

 

Steve shakes his head, because he has yet to find one that he really likes. “Not really.”

 

Pepper hands him a bottle with a label he doesn’t recognize, something Steve finds common these days. Although he’s heard some of the guys—and gals—at SHIELD talk about microbrews and craft beers, he’s not sure he understands the distinction.

 

Steve wonders if some of it is nostalgia—nothing will ever quite measure up to the last round he had with Bucky, which consisted of crappy French wine that was just this side of vinegar—or if it’s just because he can’t get drunk.

 

For Steve, drinking alcohol has always been a social activity, and that much hasn’t changed. In fact, it’s even truer now.

 

Since the battle of Manhattan, Tony has apparently outfitted the roof as a deck, and in late spring, the weather is conducive to sitting outside. Clint and Natasha are sharing one deck chair, with Natasha cuddled up on what has to be Clint’s good side. Tony has set up a freestanding, old-fashioned porch swing, too, which causes Steve to pause because it seems so out of place.

 

Then again, Bruce is sitting next to Tony, and Pepper drops into the empty spot on Tony’s other side, snuggling into him, so maybe the porch swing makes sense, too.

 

But it leaves him feeling a little like a third wheel.

 

Steve does the math in his head again and amends, _sixth_ wheel.

 

He takes the one lounge chair open to him, and Tony says, “Okay, Bruce, I’m putting you on ordering a couple more chairs. Clearly, we don’t have enough.”

 

“You put yourself in charge of ordering seating,” Bruce replies mildly, elbowing Tony in the ribs. “ _You_ order more chairs.”

 

Tony grunts. “I get no love around here.”

 

“We reserve all the love for our fearless leader,” Clint teases, tossing a bottle of something in Steve’s direction.

 

Steve catches it out of sheer reflex. “What’s this?”

 

“It’s what I use for beard itch when I need to grow it for a mission,” Clint replies.

 

Tony snorts. “I’ve seen what you call a beard, Barton. I think you’re exaggerating.”

 

Clint flips him off casually. “Bite me.”

 

“I’ve got Pepper for that,” Tony replies smugly.

 

“Don’t even go there, Tony,” Pepper warns.

 

Tony just smirks at her. “If that doesn’t work, Cap, try some kind of oil. I favor jojoba, but others like plain old olive oil.”

 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Of course you would know.”

 

Tony jostles him. “What? You think I look this good by wishing?”

 

“Good?” Bruce challenges. “The only reason you look halfway presentable is because Pepper and I ganged up on you and made you take a shower and get a few hours of sleep.”

 

That comment devolves into Tony poking Bruce in the side—Bruce is apparently somewhat ticklish—and Bruce trying to block him, at least until Pepper says, “Enough, both of you.”

 

Steve glances at Clint and Natasha, who are watching the proceedings with near-identical smirks, and he decides that it’s kind of nice.

 

In a really weird way, it’s a little like being back with the Howling Commandos, before he’d lost Bucky, when they’d been between battles.

 

Tony suddenly straightens. “Looks like the pizzas are here, guys. Let’s eat.”

 

He drags Pepper inside, and Natasha pulls Clint up to follow, but Bruce hangs back with Steve. “How’s it going?” Bruce asks solicitously.

 

Steve shrugs. “Okay. We’re just waiting until we have to leave for this mission, you know?”

 

“Be careful,” Bruce says. “I know Natasha will look after you, and vice versa, but we’d all like you back in one piece.”

 

Steve smiles. “I’ll be fine, doc. There’s not much that can hurt me.”

 

Bruce sighs. “There you go, jinxing yourself.”

 

“I didn’t think you believed in stuff like that,” Steve objects.

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, but I believe in expecting the worst. That way, you’ll always be pleasantly surprised.”

 

~~~~~

 

It’s not that Steve disagrees with Bruce’s philosophy; he’s had missions go bad often enough that he generally plans for the worst. But he’s not superstitious, and he doesn’t think that speaking the truth brings bad luck.

 

Really, there isn’t much that can hurt him—although Steve can kind of see Bruce’s point. Bruce might come through unscathed in the end, but his surroundings aren’t usually quite so lucky.

 

A week after the impromptu gathering of Avengers, Steve is sitting at a tiny wrought iron table with Natasha at a Paris café. Steve had always wanted to see Paris, and he tries to surreptitiously take in his surroundings without being too obvious about it.

 

“You haven’t been here before?” Natasha asks in a low voice, her mouth right up against Steve’s ear.

 

He shrugs. “It was occupied by the time I got over here, and I went down before it was liberated, so no.”

 

“Maybe we’ll have time to see a few sights after this,” she offers with a smile that might almost be fond. “If it goes off without a hitch.”

 

Steve feels a frisson of uneasiness. “Bruce would say that’s jinxing ourselves.”

 

“Which is why I used ‘if,’” Natasha replies. “Don’t look now, but our contact is approaching from your six.”

 

Steve keeps his gaze on her, even though the spot between his shoulder blades itches. Fury might trust this guy—mostly—but Steve doesn’t know him, and he doesn’t like having his back to a potential enemy.

 

He doesn’t turn until he hears a throat being cleared. “Ms. Romanoff?”

 

“That’s me,” Natasha replies smoothly. “Have a seat. This is Captain Rogers.”

 

The man is very short and bald, with wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his hawkish nose. Steve probably wouldn’t have given him a second look if he’d passed the man on the street, which would make him an excellent informant. “And I am Jean. Thank you both for meeting with me personally,” he says, taking out a handkerchief and mopping his forehead.

 

Excessive sweating isn’t uncommon in someone who’s nervous, and it could be that this guy is just uncomfortable meeting a couple of Avengers, or maybe he’s anxious about informing on his bosses. Still, something about the situation doesn’t feel right to Steve, and he glances at Natasha, who offers a barely perceptible nod.

 

So, Steve isn’t the only one getting a weird vibe.

 

“What can you tell us?” Steve asks, deciding to proceed as normal, although he’s hyperaware of his surroundings.

 

“I wish I could tell you more,” Jean replies, and Steve is definitely beginning to feel uncomfortable. Not only is “Jean” one of the most generic aliases there is, but according to Fury, this guy had contacted SHIELD, giving them just enough information to ensure that SHIELD took him seriously, and decided it was worth the risk to send two of their best. “But I have been locked out. They are uncertain of my commitment, you see.”

 

That might be true, and Natasha asks, “Are you seeking asylum?”

 

Jean shakes his head. “No, no. I could not leave my beloved France. I am just warning you that I have very little new information to share.”

 

“Do you know how many bases of operation they have?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice pitched low and calm. “Give us that much.”

 

“Maybe ten,” Jean replies, his eyes darting around. “I don’t know the location of all of them.”

 

“Do you know the locations of some of them?” Natasha asks.

 

“No, no,” Jean insists. “But I think perhaps one or two others. They are building a weapon, a bomb that will kill many.”

 

So far, the information is frustratingly vague. There are plenty of terrorist organizations that are building bombs.

 

Natasha glances at Steve, and he sits back in his chair, curbing his impatience. “That’s good,” she says soothingly. “That’s very helpful.”

 

She begins to draw him out, asking innocuous questions about the neighborhood in which he lives, and the route he takes to work. Steve can’t help but admire her work. Natasha is capable of getting people to tell her everything while they think she’s asking nothing.

 

Jean gushes about the streets in spring, and a little _patisserie_ he passes on his way to the metro, and a café where he often eats dinner.

 

Natasha’s expression gives away nothing, but Steve knows she’s close to getting exactly what they need, when the glass in the café window shatters behind them.

 

Before Steve can prevent it, Jean stands, looking surprised. “I thought I was doing what they wanted—”

 

That’s all he says before red blooms on his shirt, and Steve instinctively takes cover as Natasha does the same.

 

“It’s an ambush,” Steve says, and immediately realizes that he’s just stated the glaringly obvious.

 

Natasha merely cocks an eyebrow, declining to poke fun the way Tony would have. “We need to get out of here.”

 

“Do you have what we need?” Steve asks.

 

Natasha nods. “I can find it. Let’s get out of here.”

 

Steve catches sight of someone. “Widow, I think I have a bead on one of them.”

 

Natasha hesitates, clearly weighing the advantages of pursuit, and Steve makes his own decision. They had been sent to get answers, and Steve isn’t going to lose this chance. He makes the call and begins to run, wishing he had his uniform; the suit doesn’t allow for the full range of motion that he’s used to in the field.

 

He dodges pedestrians and then cars as he races after the suspect, down a side street and then into the alley.

 

Steve catches sight of the man in the doorway just before he strikes, and he catches the knife on his forearm, wishing he had his shield with him. He feels a sting, and then heat in his arm, and he realizes that his opponent has a knife in each hand. Steve knocks one knife away, sending it spinning across the cobblestones of the alley, and tries to block the next blow, but the guy is moving really fast, much faster than he should have been able to move.

 

The knife sinks into his side, and Steve grunts, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting. The guy lets go of the knife, but his elbow clips Steve’s jaw, knocking him back a few steps, just enough so the guy can run.

 

Steve yanks out the knife and starts to follow, but he stumbles, watching as Natasha skids to a halt at the alley entrance.

 

“Go!” he tells her. “Chase him down.”

 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

 

Steve nods. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad.”

 

Natasha starts running, and Steve begins to follow her, but falters almost immediately feeling lightheaded and sick to his stomach.

 

“Oh, this isn’t good,” he mutters, pressing his hand to his side.

 

He wraps his jacket around him tightly and clamps his arm to his side, fighting to say upright. Their hotel room isn’t too far from the meeting place, and he thinks he’ll be able to make it back there, and he can call for help then.

 

Steve grits his teeth, feeling his side and arm throb with every step. He’s grateful that his suit is dark, to better hide the blood, and that no one looks at him too closely. Sweat drips down his forehead, and he keeps his head ducked down as he navigates the streets.

 

He’s nearly there when Natasha appears by his side, inserting herself under his arm, on his good side. “You said you were fine,” she mutters.

 

“I thought I was,” Steve protests weakly. “A couple of knife wounds shouldn’t slow me down at all. What happened to the guy?”

 

“Ready for SHIELD pickup,” Natasha replies. “They’ll grab him and then will send a car for us.”

 

Steve’s knees go a little weak, and Natasha takes his weight, spitting out something in Russian. “That didn’t sound very polite,” Steve says, his voice fading.

 

“It wasn’t,” Natasha replies sourly. “You should have said something.”

 

“I didn’t know it was poisoned right away,” Steve protests.

 

Natasha responds by saying something else in Russian that Steve is certain is very uncomplimentary, although she takes most of his weight. “I’m going to call for an emergency evac.”

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve protests, but his vision is already graying out.

 

“Shut up,” Natasha advises, not unkindly, and Steve loses his battle to remain conscious.

 

~~~~~

 

When he wakes up, Steve knows that he’s heavily drugged. His arm and side still throb dully, but the very good drugs that he’s clearly on cushion the pain.

 

“You’re awake,” Natasha says from the chair next to his bed.

 

Steve realizes that he has no idea where he is. “Where—” He gets that far before he begins coughing.

 

“Lucky for you, our perpetrator talked,” Natasha continues as though Steve hadn’t said anything, although she holds out a glass of water with a straw and helps him drink. “The doctors were able to find an antidote.”

 

“Then it was poison,” Steve mutters. “Bruce was right.”

 

“Right about what?” Natasha asks sharply, and he realizes that she hasn’t changed from earlier. He can still see smears of blood on the cuff of her shirt, and a splatter on her collar.

 

“About jinxes.”

 

Natasha hums under her breath. “It’s best not to invite misfortune.” When Steve gives her a disbelieving look, she adds, “I’m Russian.”

 

For some reason, Steve finds that incredibly funny, although he tries not to laugh since the pain breaks through the medication barrier. “Where are we?”

 

“We’re in a hospital in Paris,” Natasha replies. “When you’re well enough, you’ll be transferred back to the States. Tony has already said that you could recover in the Tower.”

 

Steve blinks. “How did he find out?”

 

Natasha smiles. “Apparently, he’s hacked SHIELD’s system and has alerts set up for all of us. After what happened to Bruce and Clint, he’s been even more vigilant, which explains a few things.”

 

Steve isn’t sure that explains _anything_ , but he’s feeling abnormally slow from the drugs, and mostly like he doesn’t care. “Is this a team thing?” he asks, inexplicably touched. People are looking out for him; he has somewhere to go. Steve hasn’t been able to say that since Bucky died.

 

At least, he thinks that’s the case. Maybe if he hadn’t been frozen, things would have been different, but right now, he’s not sorry things turned out the way they had.

 

“I really wouldn’t know,” Natasha admits. “But yes, I think it is.”

 

“That’s nice,” Steve says. “Did you get the guy?” he asks, suddenly remembering _why_ he’d been stabbed. It all feels rather distant now, and he feels sleep begin to tug at him.

 

“We got him,” Natasha says, sounding very deliberate. “You slowed him down enough for me to get him. Just rest now, Steve. That’s all that matters.”

 

“Thanks for being there,” Steve says, his eyes drifting closed.

 

He feels Natasha squeeze his hand. “I’m glad I could be.”

 

And Steve drops off, knowing that there are people looking out for him.


End file.
